


first time he'd smiled in years

by soapyconnor



Series: wolf, stag, dove [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Child-birth, Guilt and Moments of Self-Hatred, M/M, Pregnancy, also the child birth scene is a little graphic lol, hi dont read this if you aint comfy w either of those thoughts, trans john marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: He wanted to go to him, to comfort his son, but again . . . he was just a big reminder of the mistake that John had made.





	first time he'd smiled in years

**Author's Note:**

> hi if you dont like this shit then dont read it, this is like . . . very self-indulgent for me and i rlly dont care what anyone thinks, i just want 2 share it
> 
> tumblr: johnsmarstons  
ko-fi: widowmakxrs

Packing away a blanket along the back of Lady May’s saddle, John glanced back to the nearly silent camp. There was only man on watch tonight, and Mac was far away, leaning against a log. The man looked tired, and John bit down on his tongue as he took the reins in his hands. Part of him wanted to stay, to take over for Mac and let the man go to bed. Yet again, John didn’t know what he’d do if he had to face Arthur. If he’d end up spilling his secret, and he couldn’t—not _again_—

He paused as he heard Jack let out a loud wail. His heart began to pound, but he heard Abigail’s soft murmurings as she got up and began to shush him. He wanted to go to him, to comfort his son, but _again_ . . . he was just a big reminder of the mistake that John had made.

_Again_.

He led Lady May out of camp, waiting till he got out of earshot before he heaved himself onto her saddle, and took off into a gallop. The cold wind bit at his skin as he headed through the desert, his body shuddering as he tugged his coat tighter around him. Coyotes and pronghorns ran through the open desert, pausing momentarily to look at John before deciding to take off.

His hands clenched tightly at the reins upon seeing a doe with her young. John was no smart man, the gang liked to remind him of that fact sure enough, but it didn’t take more than one brain cell to realize what had been going on with him, what was _wrong_ with him.

He slowed as he reached Tumbleweed, leaning down and burying his face against Lady May’s mane. She smelt like camp, of Pearson’s bad cooking and of the cigars that Davey would smoke near his horse, Clementine. This struck a chord deep within him, realizing that he wasn’t just going to lose Arthur until he decided to come back, but _everyone_. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, sighing softly. Maybe he’d wake up one day and realize that his reaction to this entire situation was stupid. That he should just head back to camp and _everyone_ would be understanding about it.

Then, he thought to everyone’s reactions to when he told them about Jack. His heart plummeted into his stomach, and he spurred Lady May on. Either way, he needed time away from camp, to figure himself out. Figure out what he was going to do with this . . . Thing.

He kept on riding, his fingers curling through Lady May’s mane, the only foolish soul to be out this late.

Tugging his hat low over his gaze, John pushed his way through Blackwater. He wasn’t so sure how long it had been since he left the gang, but he had taken his time making his way through New Austin. Occasionally, he thought he saw glimpses of the gang, but he just minded his own business and went on his own, taking bounties whenever he came across a poster.

Lady May whinnied as John approached, and he held out a carrot for her, smiling gently as her mouth tickled the palm of his hand. Blackwater was quiet, the rest of the town still asleep. It suited John fine enough—kept people from asking too many questions.

Hauling himself onto his horse took a lot more effort than it used too, and John was grateful that he had stolen one of Arthur’s coats. He was a lot bigger now than he ever had been with Jack, and his chest was awfully swollen. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to pass it off as fat, before women or men began to realize his stomach was far too taut. He began to head out of town, figuring he’d be able to get out and go further north in West Elizabeth, getting himself lost in the forest.

His head jerked as he heard a woman scream, followed by gunshots and more screaming. Against his better judgment, he urged Lady May towards the commotion, forcing her to grind to a halt as he saw Del Lobos terrorizing a stagecoach. A woman around John’s age climbed out, her light blue dress stained with blood, and she sobbed as the Del Lobos began to wrangle her away from the stagecoach.

“Shit,” John murmured, picking up his Rolling Block rifle and taking cover inside a store, the windows already shot out. He observed the gang members, relieved to see there seemed to be five, six max. Inhaling and looking down the scope, he carefully took out the members of the gang. The street went silent as the last Del Lobos member collapsed. Taking a moment to make sure he wasn’t wrong; John left the store.

“You all right, ma’am?” he asked, lifting the shaking woman to her feet. She stumbled, falling against John’s chest and he hid a wince. She didn’t look at him, turning her face towards the stagecoach, her letting out a wail upon seeing the dead man slumped over the plush velvet seats. “Shit—” John’s grip tightened on her as she nearly collapsed, and he tugged her towards a nearby store front, sitting her down on the porch and dabbing at her forehead with his shirt sleeve.

The woman looked stunned, and she swayed, only remaining upright thanks to John. John glanced around, _wondering_ if anyone in this shithole town was going to come and help her. He saw people peak out from behind their curtains, but ducked back in upon making eye contact with him.

He offered her water from his bull horn, and she looked him up and down but readily accepted it. “Feel better now?” he murmured, and managed to get a nod from her.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at her. She dabbed at her forehead; her face incredibly pale as she stared down at her blood-soaked dress. Remarkably, she seemed uninjured. “Ah . . . sorry about your husband—”

“It is to be expected,” she replied, curtly, her face suddenly changing beneath the hot sun. “When you live in a town such as this. Thieves’ Landing isn’t too far, neither.” She moved to get up, and John took her hand. “I suppose though, I should thank you for saving my life, Mister . . .”

“Marston.”

She nodded absentmindedly, and blanched upon seeing her husband’s dead body. She turned her head away. “Whatever you can find in the wagon, you may take. For saving me.”

He blinked, and glanced back at the stagecoach. Something about it . . . Didn’t seem wrong. John coughed, and shook his head. “I don’t need that, ma’am. Making sure you was okay was reward enough . . .” He studied her. “Do you got any place I can take you? Your homestead, your parents?”

Picking at blood on her dress, the woman looked contemplative. She sighed. “I suppose, if you truly do not want a reward . . .” She looked up. “I live with my parents on a homestead not too far from here. My husband and I . . . were working on moving out.” She straightened herself, flattening her dress. “I suppose if you’d like to take me there . . .”

John just nodded, tipping his hat to her and whistled. Lady May came out from between two buildings, jumping over Del Lobos and slowing near them. He motioned for the woman to get on, but she shook her head. “No, I am capable of riding on my own. I will just free one of the Shires and we’ll be on our way.” She swallowed. “My father will be right miffed if I leave what little valuables, we had on us in the middle of the street. Mind grabbing them for me?”

“Sure.” It was . . . weird. The woman seemed to be incredibly distraught by what had happened to her husband, but she picked herself up without another thought and set about untying the big black Shire. Something about her . . . just drew him to her. She enraptured him, and he wasn’t so sure following her was a good idea. Nonetheless, he found the woman’s valuables and returned them to her, before heaving himself up onto Lady May. “Lead the way, ma’am.”

The lady waved a hand. “Please. Call me Mrs. Dare.” While she spoke casually, her voice cracked a bit and her shoulders slumped. “Or Leta, if it suits you better.”

“Mrs. Dare is fine,” John replied. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, Mrs. Dare. Downright horrendous what they did to you and him.”

She patted at her cheeks, her makeup staining her white gloves. “It’s t’ be expected in this state. Gangs running wild all over. Between the Del Lobos and the Van der Lindes, it’s incredible that something didn’t happen sooner.”

John kept quiet. What was he to say? That the Van der Lindes were nothing like that? It’d be a downright lie, and probably give him away. No use in lying and saying that they was good people. “I’m real sorry, ma’am.”

Mrs. Dare shook her head. “Nothin’ you could have really done about it, I suppose. I should just be thankful I’m not dead, like . . . like Monroe.” She turned her head away from him, and carefully wiped at her eyes again. “So, thank you, mister.”

“No problem.”

They rode out of town, John keeping an eye out for other Del Lobos members and just followed Leta, trying to make casual conversation. As they reached the homestead, he was fully prepared to tell her to have a goodnight and to leave. Leta, however, turned to him before he got a chance too, and said, “Come along. My parents will probably want to meet you. Thank you for saving me.”

John tried to hide his unease. “Ah. Sure.” He forced himself to stop talking, and tied Lady May to the hitching post outside of the house, quietly following Leta inside.

“Momma, daddy,” she called out as John removed his hat, standing in the doorway like he was coming to propose to their daughter. _Stop feeling guilty,_ he thought, as he watched Leta’s elderly parents come down the staircase. They blinked at the sight of John. “M . . . Monroe’s dead,” Leta choked, tears springing to her eyes and she fell into her momma’s arms.

Her mom gasped and she lowered them both to the ground, gently rocking her daughter. Her father turned to John; his eyes ablaze. “And who’s this? The man that shot him?”

John flipped up his palms, taking a step back. Before he could get a word out, Leta sobbed. “Are you crazy, daddy? ‘Course not. He’s the reason why ya didn’t have the coroner beating on your door in the middle of the night.” Leta was still on the floor, and was shaking, but her mother had risen, trying to coax her to her feet.

Her father continued to look, tensed and uncertain. Nonetheless, he stepped forward, jutting out a hand. “I suppose I should thank you then, son.”

Uneasily, John shook his hand. “There’s no thanks necessary, sir. I’m just glad I could get here back home to you safely.”

The man hummed, and then gestured towards his wife, glancing over his shoulder. “We still need to thank you. My daughter means the world to me, and you bringing her safely to us means everything. Could we offer you a place to rest? Food, work?”

The offer was tempting. Having at least a somewhat steady place where he could stay until it got closer for the baby to be born meant less risk of either of them dying. Yet again, he couldn’t _risk_ these people finding out.

“I couldn’t.”

This time, the wife stepped forward. Leta was slowly picking herself up off of the floor, taking her father’s hand. Her father drew her close, kissing her forehead and murmuring reassuringly to her. It was sweet and it broke his heart, knowing that if he had just come around sooner, Leta would not be a widow. “Now, now, Mr. . . .”

“Marston,” John murmured.

The woman repeated his name, and she straightened. “We appreciate your humbleness and your refusing our help, we really do. But from the state of your horse, and of you,” John froze, glancing down at himself and picking at his clothes. He didn’t look too bad, did he? “Taking care of you and giving you a place to rest would be the _least_ we could do to repay you for saving our daughter.”

John shifted his weight and picked at the lapel of Arthur’s jacket. His eyes traveled from the mother, to the father, and then to Leta, who was smiling at him tearfully. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and he nodded absentmindedly to the mother. “Thank you, Mrs. . . .”

“Abbey,” she said, smiling at him. She glanced towards her husband. “But as our guest, informalities are silly, are they not? Please, son, call us Florence and Otto.”

“I . . . I would rather not. My pa didn’t raise me that way, but . . . thank you,” John said, face flushing of all color as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

Otto waved a hand, as Florence just smiled at him and turned towards her daughter, sweeping Leta upstairs and leaving the men alone. “Seems like your pa taught you well.” Otto glanced to where the woman had gone, before he turned to John. “You eat today?”

Instinct told him to lie. Knowing he was carrying life other than his own, he gritted out, “No, sir.”

“Well,” Otto said, waving a hand. “I’ll get you something fixed up with the Mrs. is with Leta. Then you can rest if you like.” He gave John a critical once over as he headed towards the kitchen. John followed him, uneasy. “You a traveler?”

“Ah. Yes, sir. Don’t like stayin’ in one place too long.” John watched as the man, skillfully, made him some food. It was nothing much, just a plain sandwich, but Otto went so far as to dice up some tomatoes and cut up some lettuce.

“Well, I hope we can make this place feel nice for ya till you decide to leave,” Otto said, as he put the plate down at the table. John, upon realizing he was still wearing dirty shoes, toed them off and mumbled an apology, which caused Otto to chuckle and wave a hand. He sat at the table, devouring the sandwich after he took a small nibble. Otto watched, looking quite amused, before he asked, “Your parents stop at Marston?”

John cleared his throat. “John.” He tried not to talk with his mouth full, but this was probably the first real decent meal he had gotten in a while. He was tempted to lick the mayo off of the plate, but forced himself to stop. “Thank you, sir, I appreciate it.”

Otto chuckled and waved a hand. “My pleasure, for what you’ve done for my family. Looks like you hadn’t had a good meal in a long time, neither.” Otto studied John, who slouched back in the chair and felt his eyelids growing heavy, despite it still being early in the morning. “Why don’t I show you to the guest room, where ya can get a few winks? I need t’ run to town, see about sending Monroe’s folks a letter, and visit the coroner. See exactly what they put my poor daughter through.”

John remained quiet, biting down the urge to voice his concerns. He nodded nonetheless, and was led past the staircase to a small bedroom. Otto told him it was okay to take a bath, and told him to get a few winks. With the door closed, John sat at the bed, glancing around. If he was still with the gang, this’d be the type of joint he’d be looking into. Hell, the guest bedroom was even immaculately decorated, and there was plenty of stuff he could Fence if he really wanted too. Then he remembered the look on Leta’s face when she caught sight of Monroe’s body, how the man stared open-eyed and jaw hanging wide open, leaning against the velvet seats. John dug his nails into the fabric above his knees.

He would just get a few winks here, rest up and eat up, then go. Leave this family behind and head on straight up through West Elizabeth. Not look back.

“John, dear!” Leta’s voice called through the door. “Come quick, Petunia’s foaling and daddy needs help.”

Sitting upright in the bed, John yawned and scrubbed at his head. “Be there in a moment, Leta.” He turned, not bothering dressing out of his union suit and he shoved his legs into some nearby jeans. His plan of leaving the Abbey’s and going as far north as he could, obviously, didn’t quite work out. That night, when he had woken from his long slumber, he had promised to help Mr. Abbey fix the fence. Then one thing came to another, and here he was, four months later and still here.

He stood, grabbing Arthur’s coat and heading out of the room, surprised to find Leta still waiting for him. She was biting at her nails and followed John all the way to the barn, but did not venture past the barn doors. She rocked on her heels, flinching as the thoroughbred called out.

It was getting harder to hide his predicament. Apparently, second babies tend to be bigger than the first, and he had ballooned up a bit. Not enough yet where they were seriously suspicious, they just thought John had put on a little weight since being with them, which Mrs. Abbey had stated as ‘not being a big deal’. Soon enough, though, he knew he was going to have to part from them.

He came to Petunia’s stall, and he stepped inside, ignoring as the baby kicked. Petunia lifted her head upon seeing him, neighing quietly and her muzzle tickling his outstretched palm. Part of him wondered if Petunia knew. If she could tell he was going to go through the same thing as her. “It’s gonna be okay, girl,” he murmured, as he stepped down next to Otto.

Hours later, John was leaning up against the stall door, watching as Petunia sniffed and licked at her new foal. Otto had gone inside to clean up, and both Leta and Florence had stopped by to see the new baby, but had left shortly after. Only John remained, staring blankly at the mother and foal, watching how Petunia lovingly paid attention to him. He scratched at his head, and sighed. He remembered being like that with Jack. Despite not knowing who the father was, he loved that little baby with all his heart, and was glad to give Abigail the right to being his mother.

But now? This was a whole ‘nother can of worms he’d have to figure out.

He raised his head as the barn door open a bit, eyebrows furrowing together as Leta ran in and to him, grabbing him by the jacket sleeve. “John—oh God—_John_—daddy’s—”

Suddenly feeling her panic, he turned, grabbing her tightly by the shoulders and saying, “Calm down, Leta. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

She hiccoughed, glancing over her shoulder before looking back at him. “It’s—it’s the Van der Lindes. They’re—”

Without waiting for a proper response, John turned and climbed the ladder to the loft, Leta letting out a cry and following him. He headed to the small loft window, peering out of it, and cursing upon seeing Dutch and Arthur. Well, it was really seeing the Count’s shiny white pelt that told him that Dutch was there, and he would recognize Boadicea anywhere. “Shit,” he murmured, turning to Leta, who looked fearful, but for much different reasons than his own. “Do you know why they was talkin’ to your daddy?”

“A-Apparently my daddy borrowed some money from a man called Herr Strauss,” Leta stumbled, and John _cursed_. Fucking _Strauss_. “And they here to collect. I—my daddy—he ain’t stupid, but I’m _scared_. Dutch Van der Linde isn’t someone ya want to mess with, and—what if he doesn’t just want the debt money? What if—what if he—”

John bit down on his lip. “He won’t. As long as your daddy pays.” He glanced out the window, glad to see that Otto was forking over the money without a fuss. He could tell that Dutch was surprised with how easy Otto handed it over. “See? They leaving now. You guys are okay.”

Leta’s relaxed, leaning heavily against John. He tensed a bit as she snuggled in, but did nothing more than wrap an arm around her waist, patting at her hip.

“I dunno what I would have done if they’d taken daddy from me. It’s only been four months since Monroe . . .”

“It’ll get better,” John reassured, allowing her to seek comfort from him, before he slowly got up. “Come on, let’s go see how your daddy’s doing . . .”

Later that night, John crept out of the house, and headed to the barn, a small oil lamp in hand. He tacked up Lady May, pausing momentarily to think about if this was such a good idea. Sure, Dutch had visited the Abbey’s homestead, but that didn’t mean that they were coming back. But it did mean they were close, if Strauss was conducting business here. He had to go, he couldn’t—not _now_—

“Are you not even going to give us a goodbye, Mr. Marston?”

John froze, Lady May half-way in the stall and half-way out. He looked slowly towards the barn doors, where Mrs. Abbey stood in her nightgown and a shawl, the oil lamp hanging delicately from her fingers.

Mrs. Abbey hummed. “And here I thought we were being hospitable.”

“I—Mrs. Abbey—it ain’t like that—”

“Tell me how it ain’t, son.”

She moved closer to him, and his body began to shake. Her green eyes pierced through his soul; it was beginning to feel. He turned his head, but jumped when she lightly thumped him on the side of his head. “Hm, son?”

“I—” He cleared his throat. “The Van der Lindes—they scare me—I can’t—”

He knew it was a weak lie. It sounded dumb, even to his ears. He flinched, wishing he could be as nonchalant as Arthur or Hosea. Mrs. Abbey laughed. “Really? A man with an arsenal such as your own, a man who took down a group of Del Lobos, is scared of a couple Van der Lindes?” She poked him in the chest, _right_ into the pec, and he hissed, face turning bright red as his body began to lactate. She hummed. “Did you really you could hide this from me?”

He backed away from her and buttoned up his coat, his face turning red, his hands moving protectively over his stomach. He didn’t understand why he was scared of Mrs. Abbey—she was shorter than him, skinnier than him. She couldn’t hurt him. But again, she knew who he was, what he looked like, if she really wanted too—

“Calm down, son,” Mrs. Abbey said, finally taking pity on him. “Whatever you think I’m going to do, I’m not. I lost too many children in my life time to do anything malicious to one.” She reached out, gently placing a hand on the side of his stubbled face, and asked, “Why didn’t you just tell us?”

“What was I supposed t’ say?” John choked out. “Was it, ‘Hey, I saved your daughter but I’m a man running from a mistake I made, and oh, yeah, I’m pregnant’? Was that it, Mrs. Abbey?” John scrunched his eyes shut. “What was I _supposed_ to expect _you_ to say?”

Mrs. Abbey paused, before she pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to John. “Well, the wording is probably not the best, but I’ve come to expect that from you, John. If you had come to me, come to Leta, we would have understood. You’re not the first person we’ve come across that’s like this, I’m surprised my daughter had not seen the signs.” Then, she got stern. “Hey. Don’t talk like this. Children are blessings, and despite the circumstances in which one this may have come about, they are going to fill your life with joy and happiness. Never has a child been a mistake.”

John didn’t wipe at his eyes. He just clenched the handkerchief, and stared at the ground, sniffing. “Still doesn’t change the fact I need to go, Mrs. Abbey. I appreciate what you . . . I appreciate everything, but I really need to.” He turned away. “I may not be scared of the Van der Lindes, but I am running from them. At least, for now. It’s best for me if I go.”

Mrs. Abbey’s eyes hardened. “They the ones that did this to you?”

“Wha? No, ma’am, they didn’t,” he said, before letting out a watery chuckle. “I mean, one of ‘em did. But it ain’t like I wasn’t willing.” John sniffed. “I just . . . need time to sort myself out.”

Mrs. Abbey was quiet for a long time, then took a step back. “Go on, then. I understand, son. While I’m mighty sad to see you go, you know what’s best for you.” He couldn’t manage to say anything, he just stepped forward and gave her a hug, burying his face in his shoulder, murmuring thank-yous. She just patted his back, and said, “I’ll let the others know. We’ll miss you, John.”

He pulled himself up onto Lady May, nodding absentmindedly, and said, “Thank you, for everything, Mrs. Abbey.”

She smiled at him, reaching up and squeezing his hand. “Take care, John. Don’t be a stranger. You’ll always have a place at Dove’s Landing.”

He squeezed her hand in return. “Thank you. I wish you all the best.”

The contractions had started when he dumped an outlaw into a cell in Strawberry. No one seemed to bat an eye at his condition, or the extra sheen of sweat along his forehead. He barely managed to get out of the sheriffs and climb onto Lady May on his own two feet. John swallowed, and urged Lady May out of town, hoping she’d know exactly where he needed to go. He adjusted in the saddle, a hand clenching at the horn as he desperately tried to get comfortable.

He groaned, burying his face in Lady May’s mane and tugged her off into the forest, climbing off of her before his water broke and set water pouring over the forest floor. “Shit,” he gasped, unbuckling his jeans and pushing them down to his ankles as he crouched near a tree. This was coming along a lot faster than Jack had—Jack had been hours and hours of agonizing and sweating, but John would gladly take that over the sudden fucking _rush_ that this baby had to get out of him.

John reached between his legs, his hand coming back wet and bloody. He flinched, but knew he had no choice but to deliver here, in the middle of the fucking forest with his horse not two feet away, whinnying at the distress of her rider.

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned, bearing down and a scream escaping his throat. He reached down again, sticking two fingers inside of him and shuddering when he felt the baby’s head. He scrunched his eyes shut. “I dunno why you’re so fuckin’ excited to get here, not like there’s much in this fuckin’ world for ya.”

He couldn’t keep himself lifted from the ground, and he barely got Arthur’s jacket beneath him before he collapsed. He writhed on the ground in pain, his fingers digging into the dirt. Lady May snuffled at his hair, and he pushed her away, gritting his teeth as he pushed again.

Wasn’t long before the little bastard’s head appeared between his legs, and he tried his best to guide the rest of the baby out. The baby let out a shriek as they were finally removed, wailing loudly. Tiredly, John managed to pull himself to his feet a bit, so he was able to dig a razor out of his saddlebag, as well as a shirt he’d stolen from Arthur. He cut the cord, and quickly wrapped the baby in the shirt, drying the babe off a bit as he slumped back into the dirt.

Not too long after—although, John wasn’t so sure how much time had passed—the afterbirth followed suit, and John finally found enough energy to move away from the bloody, and muddy, puddle he had made, finding a cleaner spot in the same clearing. He managed to wipe himself up a bit, and tugged his trousers up as he managed to laid the bedroll out. Once he finally managed to collapse onto the bedroll, baby tucked securely to his chest, he wondered how he even managed to do _that_ much. He tucked his head against the makeshift pillow, the baby laid flat out against his chest, asleep without much soothing from him.

He tiredly looked down at it, stroking at the tuft of light brown hair on its head. Swallowing, he adjusted the baby, peaking beneath the shirt.

It was a girl.

John lowered his head back against the pillow, adjusting her again as he stared up at the sky, a small, soft smile spreading over his lips as he listened to the baby breath.

He didn’t understand. Before this, he hadn’t smiled. Hadn’t found a reason to smile. Why smile when she was another mouth to feed?

John wiped at his eyes, turning his head and closing his eyes. The only sound in the clearing beside the sound of Lady May grazing and the baby’s peaceful slumber was the soft, song-like chirping of birds.


End file.
